Prophetic Wreckage
by Mrs. R Sparrow
Summary: Too many things are happening around Sawyer that he has no use for. In an attempt to escape whatever seems to be turning the survivors of flight 815 into the cannibalistic Brady Bunch, he decides to go camping. Sharing this problem, Kate tags along. 1Shot


PROPHETIC WRECKAGE

Sawyer sat sullenly by the crackling orange glow of his fire, which he found to be both soothing, and irritating. Soothing in that it was warm, and it gave him something to do: chopping the wood, building the blaze, and continuously tending to it. Irritating in that it seemed to take more effort than he thought it should have. Figuratively, like a certain fugitive he knew.

The fire provided a soft, illuminating blush within about a six foot range around him and his makeshift tent, enough to keep him happy. _Hopefully_, without being enough to attract anymore _visitors._

Tired of all of this crap to do with the _notorious_ Others (who seemed more and more to be trying to become one with those intriguing flight 815 celebrities), and the one-time holy one, former profit of the God-damned island, he had decided to relocate for awhile.

Affectionately, he called his leave of absence a camping trip. Even though he was only forty feet inside of the tree line.

But he was starting to realize that he couldn't be far enough away from all of this if he was home in Tennessee drinking beer and flipping channels past Oprah Winfrey professing Jack's bravery for taking charge of the _815ers_ like a camp counselor.

It was not necessarily Jack himself, so much, that annoyed him now, it was more the events that he brought with him. 'Ol Doc was no longer held as the absolute profit--all was questionable now that they had entered the realm of _Complete_ barbary.

It would only be _so long_, he mused, before they were all chasing around naked and flinging their own shit at each other, like the monkeys they were. Charlie, of course, would be the first to go and lose whatever was left of his mind—the apocalyptic initiator. He assumed that these times would grow nearer with a new fervor, now that the mighty hath fallen. The little Picts had no lead now, no order.

Jack had never been God, he had never been...Christian. So why did the man infinitely and futilely try to fill shoes that just didn't fit? Daddy's shoes would always be too big. Bastard should have realized that by now.

Shit, he was over thinking this to a new level, having not been off on a ranting tangent for some time.

He rubbed his temples with a groan. Even with the glasses, even with his books to distract him, the headaches were returning.

Hearing a sharp crack a few feet to his right, he spoke without looking up. He wouldn't allow himself to be jolted back to reality anymore--he had to be hawk, alert at all times. Waitin' for the mice. And the culturally misplaced white bears.

"All this time watchin', and a damn twig gives you away. I'm disappointed, Freckles. It's too much like the movies,"

Kate stepped from the trees, looking vaguely guilty.

"What, you spyin' on me now?" He asked with a flourish, mocking the situation where their roles had been reversed.

"I was just trying to 'protect' you," Kate whined back.

Pissed off, Sawyer found himself thinking that she did a decent impression of him. Not something he was going to complement her on, to say the least.

"Yeah, 'well'...what d'ya want, kid? Another roll in the...leaves to try and forget about Jack-O and the blonde?" He put it on the table.

Why not? If anyone was going to get a little of Kate, it should have been him. The real challenge was getting more than a little.

She loved him, huh? _Sawyer._ She _loved_ him, because he was there. Sawyer partially believed that, but would never admit to himself that it caused a tinge with a sharp quality to it in his chest when he thought about it.

"If it's any consolation, Freckles, she may be blonde--that tends to draw attention, but the bastard's blind not to see that she's not half as hot as you,"

"Is that another compliment?!" She wondered sarcastically, with a tiny, short-lived smirk.

Sawyer grinned,

"She's probably not all that great. She's got a glint in her eyes, though. Must be okay in bed, if you dig the whole Cougar thing. Under-eye circles must get both their engine's runnin'," He smirked.

"Sawyer--" Kate interrupted.

He paid no attention.

"I think he's just into the whole 'doctor and scientist thing'. Rather than the, _uhh._.. doctor and criminal thing," He reasoned. "But then, _I'm_ a criminal...so you're doing fine in my books, Sheena," Sawyer's best effort at a comforting line.

She made herself comfortable on a separate log a couple of feet away from him. Sawyer sat back down, joining her. She looked a the ground, before averting her eyes back to him, a sheepish smile gracing her delicate features.

"Sawy--James...was any... was any of that true? At the camp?" She asked, sounding embarrassed, only glancing at him briefly before looking down at her hands. Her behavior didn't seem very much like Kate. Katherine, perhaps.

"You lie to me more than I lie to you," Was Sawyer's sombre reply.

_"Oh...,"_ She trailed off. "I..._was_ telling the _truth_, but..." She searched for the right words.

"But you still have attachments to the good doctor because he makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and takes care of you like you think I can't. Oh, and I apparently once channeled a happy family reunion, playing the part of the drunk daddy you killed,"

Kate was quiet.

He wasn't usually the one to speak for her, he liked her to work for it. Though, at times like these he was pissed off to the point where he couldn't help himself, though, and words flew from his brain out of his mouth in record speeds without first being regulated.

"You're brave. I wished I'd have blown up mine,"

Kate sighed. "You wouldn't have after you did it. You know what...it's _like_. And, to have to run,"

"You're smart, Kate, but you ain't logical,"

She smiled, sadly.

"You...love me," She stated, no question in her voice.

Sawyer smiled a little. For now, from Kate...as long as she didn't try to push him around, he would take what he could get.

"Yeah, yeah, you don't have to go blabbing our engagement to the squirrels,"

"Squirrels?"

"Well, the damn polar bears, then! Wouldn't want to have to shoot another one just for whisperin' to the VH1 reject that I don't just want in your pants,"

"Well, thanks," Kate groaned, concealing a small smirk.

"Where's the marshmallows?" Kate questioned with the excitement of a prepubescent girl scout.

"Marshmallows? What the hell're you talkin' about? Don't change the damn subject!"

"We're camping! You have to have marshmallows when you're camping," She explained, as if he were an idiot for not realizing this well-known fact.

"Well, then feel free to extract gelatin from the polar bear bones and make some. I like 'em _burnt_,"

_"Sawyer!"_

"Ain't no _vegetarian marshmallows_ in the jungle, Freckles,"

She shot him a solemn look.

"_What?!_ Welcome to the jungle."


End file.
